


moon&gravity

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Again, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Friendship, M/M, Mentions of cannibalism attempt, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, POV Multiple, half worldbuilding half crack, lesmisbigbang2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24025678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The first time Grantaire met Enjolras, the elf was only one of many students in the reclusive elven realm, his brother had already been vanished and Grantaire had found himself with one of the most powerful magical objects in the world in his hands.Centuries later the elven realm was lost and Grantaire was hiding from other demons in plain sight somwehere in Sin City when he met Enjolras again. Later that night, Grantaire woke up married and the ring could talk.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	1. MARIUS PART I

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone had a lot of fun this bigbang, thank you so much to the mods!  
> Everyone give my beta a round of applause, please: MayareneRose! Thank you for everyhting. Remaining errors are mine.

Marius had always wanted to be human for one reason only: they didn't have schools. Marius was 7500 years old - in human years - and as far as he knew, humans didn't have to attend class as they lived more or less in a ‘savage’ state. His grandfather's words, not his. Either way that sounded preferable to endless hours of meditation, alchemy and terra-transfiguration lessons, plus the extra idiom classes that his grandfather made him take at home. He worked conscientiously at them, nevertheless, if only because he failed to think of anything else to do.

Marius spent most of his days reading books, sometimes the soft shadows of night time brought with them the realization that he hadn’t talked with anyone at all that day. And so these days accumulated into years, into decades and Marius grew like a tree, as his nursemaid said, tall and strong. Marius had developed the habit of subtly testing his nursemaid’s eyesight due to these comments. 

Once, Marius read about a dragon in one of his books, it became one of his sharpest memories growing up.

"I want to meet a dragon," he professed with childish surety that was abundant with his peers and that once or twice decided to visit him. 

His grandfather’s silence was deafening, but Marius was now on a roll.

“Where do we get these books?” He asked, petting the cover of his book - _his_ because he’d spent hours transcribing it from his school’s copy - it was red, like the scale of dragons in his mind.

“What kind of question is that, boy,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand scoffed. “Don’t they teach you about the world at the Mind’s Hall?” 

Marius wilted. 

“Your father went to war so that there could be peace and you could study, shape your mind and spirit…”

Marius perked at the mention of his father, but his grandfather recovered from the slip swiftly.

“We have envoys, boy,” he said. “They bring them back from other realms.” 

Marius didn’t have the courage to ask more, but if there was a thing the elves appreciated - barring, of course, his grandfather - was free knowledge, so it wasn’t hard to get his hands on history scrolls, and learn that in the beginning - longer than his grandfather had been alive! - the elves of all clans didn’t need envoys because they coexisted with the rest of magical creatures: dragons, centaurs, merpeople and more. Then the entire elven race had been forced to retreat to the motherland and the doors to the realm had been closed, here, a lot of dead schoolars hurried to assure Marius that, even though the reason for this was unknown, it had been totally justified, surely. Which meant they have no idea of what had happened. 

Marius forgot about dragons for a while.

***

It was his luck that his earthday coincided with the Blood Moon festival. Marius was a green-wood elf but at some point in the very, very distant past a lot of diverse clan’s Spiritual holy-days had intertwined and now Marius had to spend his 110 earthday in the temples. 

Marius was very lucky indeed. He loved the temples. They were spacious, coated in striking deep colors - midnight blue, rust red, and moss green - the high ceilings were littered with circular gaps so that the moonlight could sift through and the stars were visible. What Marius liked the most about going to the temples was the people: royals and scholars, merchants and hunters all in one place, a swirl of color and noise. 

Children also crowded the streets and entrances to the temple, Marius spotted a little girl with the characteristic red hair of the dune elves, a child dressed in the white clothes of the sacred third gender, and a pair of boys a little older than him: twins. 

He stared as the black haired one sneakily laid lightning beetles on the golden haired one’s head, when his brother caught up to this, he began yelling at him and made as to grab his laughing brother, but their guardian separated them. Trapped in his guardian’s grip, the blond brother sank his teeth into the meat of his own palm and immediately his twin yelped and clutched his own hand close, screaming profanities at the now grinning twin. 

Next time he saw one of them again he was 1606 and volunteering at the temple’s library. 

***

When Marius became proficient enough for it, he began translating books: religious and folkloric texts, astronomy treaties, poetry in the ever changing moon-tongue, and… erotica. 

He also surreptitiously began studying human languages and history much to the confusion of his peers. Confusion rooted in the fact that he was hiding it from his grandfather, not that he was doing it at all. He learned only very few humans left traces in history, but he obsessed over the lives and feats of those great people, going late to bed because he had been reading, and spending more and a lot of time balanced on the library’s ladder seeking for more books. 

It was there that he recognized Enjolras, the celestial elf that had visited the same temple as Marius so many years ago. Enjolras’ peers talked about his family a lot, they found their story entertaining, perhaps, and that’s how Marius learned about it. They talked about his mother, a low noble who’d married into royalty but both the mother and the father had died shortly after he and his brother were born. They talked about his brother Montparnasse a lot, too. About how even though he and Enjolras were number ninety-something in the line for succession, he’d tried to reach for more, and had been vanished for it. 

Admittedly, that was a lot that fascinated Marius about these tales. He wondered if the brand of loneliness that affected only children like himself was the same as that of someone like Enjolras, who shared a wound-bond. He doubted it. He was also bewitched by the idea of exile, and his brain created a lot of scenarios of what would he do if he was ever permitted to leave.

The first time these fantasies were given more substance than that, it was thanks to a demon.

***

It was the Blood Moon festival again, and his 16500 earthday. As always, he directed his footsteps to the nearest temple, his soles making a pleasant sound on the smooth rock of the city’s high bridges. He entered the temple through the door destined to students like himself, it was much less traveled than other entrances. 

He caught sight of Enjolras on the meditation vihra, already kneeled on one high daisies that served this purpose along with a dozen or so more students; in the hall he encountered his language tutor - a fascinating person, due to having been an envoy for many decades - said tutor was escorting a stranger into the deeper rooms of the temple. 

Marius had never sensed an energy like the strange man emanated: ancient, strong and like dark marked by dark. Marius realized he was staring when he felt the stare of the other man in return, his eyes were darker shade than any elve’s, his stare heavy like lead, and boring into him with cold curiosity. This was probably the first demon to ever set foot in the elven realm.

The demon’s stare shifted when a student left the meditation vihra and joined them in the hall. 

“We make deals with demons now?” Enjolras asked in the general direction of Marius’ tutor, one hand gripping the white stone of the threshold. "Of all the creatures we could have opened our gates to."

The demon smirked at Enjolras.

"Enough," the tutor said. "You two go back to the vihra."

Marius bowed his head and complied. Enjolras, reluctantly, followed after. 

"That boy." Marius heard his tutor sigh. "He's brilliant, but he's all heart." 

“Should we address the matter of my… visit?” The demon asked, his elvish accented and voice deep.

All through it all there was only one thought going through his head: if a demon could get in, why couldn’t he get out.

***

Enjolras, as it turned out, _was_ all heart. 

Shortly after the demon’s sanctioned visit to the elven realm - for a purpose obscure and incomprehensible to everyone - Marius ended up meeting that dragon. These two things were connected.

For months, it was all fellow elves talked about: the celestial elf crossing to the human world thanks to the knowledge his twin had gained about the gates and magical guards when he had been vanished, about how he met a dragon there, how he refused to come back without him. Marius didn’t obsess about it like a lot of nobles and scholars did, it wasn’t in his nature to gossip, and he was preoccupied navigating his and his grandfather’s fraying relationship.

But when Enjolras did come back, he did so with Courfeyrac in tow.

This time Marius, along with the millions of elves in the different clans, did pay attention.

There were six kings and six queens for the twelve elven clans that made up their realm. Each ruled with a different approach, suited to their people’s needs and customs, but this time it seemed all but one of them agreed on something: Enjolras should be vanished, like his brother.

Marius expected that that was what was going to happen. The celestial queen surprised everyone by fervently refusing to do so. Enjolras was _theirs_.

The next years were the most hectic of Marius’ life. His relationship with the patriarch of his little family finally shattered and he found himself struggling to survive on his own at the same time that the elven realm opened its gates to the rest of the magical world in earnest. The result was a magical booming as the elven magic that permeated everything and everyone in their realm was nurtured by foreign magics and grew richer for it. 

Another outcome of this was that Marius had to fight - physically fight - a hydra for unoccupied lodgings. 

As he laid face down in the mud, stuffed underneath a wooden deck next to the inn’s stone wall, he reflected that life was not going that good for him. It was, surprisingly, Courfeyrac who swooped in and picked him up from the mud, and saved him from the streets and their hectic newly formed underworld, even invited him to live with him, rent-free. 

“Won’t Enjolras mind if I come to live with you two?” Marius asked, dazedly. It had been a crazy day, still was. 

Still caked in mud, Courfeyrac had invited him to a pub and bought him his first pint of ale ever.

Courfeyrac laughed. 

“They may have pronounced the elven realm a safe haven for folks like myself and other handsome creatures in part because of our sordid affair, but they would _never_ let us live together,” he said, winking. “Furthermore, I rather think our place would burn down in less than a month, and it’s not a guarantee it’d be my fault,” he finished, blowing over his bottle and producing a flame with it before taking a sip.

“You’re not what I expected of a dragon,” Marius slurred. He was probably a little drunk. 

“Oh really,” Courfeyrac said, amused. “Tell me mister dragonist, what were you expecting?”

“Well for once, I rather expected I could ride a dragon.”

Courfeyrac choked on his drink. 

“Marius, don't say that kind of things in this kind of pub.”

Marius narrowed his eyes, confused. Then, he remembered everything erotica had taught him and he blushed so fast he felt dizzy. Courfeyrac laughed good naturally at him.

“I’ll tell you a secret, Marius,” Courfeyrac said when he had recovered.

“Why?” Marius couldn’t help but ask.

“Well because we’re friends now and I like you! And also because I have the feeling you won’t remember half of tonight tomorrow.”

Marius nodded sagely.

“Enjolras and I are not dating or otherwise involved in such a way,” Courfeyrac proclaimed.

Marius blinked slowly. 

“Are you teasing me?” He asked.

“Not this time,” Courfeyrac said.

“Everyone is calling you star crossed lovers and - and other things.” Definitely drunk.

“Ah! You’re a romantic, Marius!” Courfeyrac said, throwing an arm over Marius’ shoulders. “In that case forget about what I said… Except the part about harbouring you in my home, I was serious about that.”

“Thank you,” Marius said, eagerly. Then: “Wait, then why did you do it then? Why did Enjolras?”

“Why, for the greater good of course!” Courfeyrac said, extending an arm to encompass the people around them: elves and non elves, drinking together.


	2. LES AMIS DE L'ABC PART I

17th century. Paris.

Combeferre was having trouble with a tracking spell, he knew the language of the stone he was engraving with markings, but he felt he rather had the wrong stone. Maybe he hadn’t turned it over the soil enough times before picking it up, or maybe in its past it had been part of a mountain that faced the west instead of the north, who knew at this point? He should have stayed in healing school.

There was a rapping at his door. Combeferre adjusted his spectacles and got up to answer. 

“Good day to you!” Exclaimed a man, no - Combeferre cleaned his spectacles on his robe and put them on again - a dragon. 

The dragon was holding up a golden haired elf and behind them second elf, with locks the colour of mud, was shifting anxiously.

“Courfeyrac,” the elf draped over the dragon slurred.

“Right, right,” the dragon said. “You’re the wizard with healing training? We need your help.” 

Combeferre didn’t hesitate, this occurrence was old hat, people talked about him in Paris’ magical underbelly.

He let the three men walk into his living room and pointed at the cot in the back. “Lay him there,” he said.

“I don’t need to lay down,” the injured elf protested. “It’s just my hand.”

“Really? If I let go of you now, would your legs support your weight?” The dragon asked, irritably, concern bleeding into his tone. 

The elf pouted and didn’t answer, so he let his friend sat him on the cot, except staying like that was apparently still too much for his weakened body and he slid slowly down until he was completely laying on the cot. He was experiencing symptoms of poisoning, Combeferre thought.

“What is the matter with your hand?” Combeferre asked as he moved around the room collecting what he needed for a basic antidote. The second elf sidestepped him awkwardly, and Combeferre started shoving the ingredients he collected at him. “Hold onto those for me.”

“I don’t know,” the elf answered and Combeferre came to a halt.

“Excuse me?” Combeferre asked, bemused. “How do you not know how you came to be injured?”

“He shares a wound-bound with his twin,” the elf struggling to balance the ingredients of the antidote answered

“A wound-bond?” 

“Every time one twin is injured, the same exact wound appears on the other’s body.”

“But the treatment of the wounds is an individual endeavor,” the elf groaned form the cot.

“That is fascinating,” Combeferre said in awe. The blond elf glared up at him.

“Forgive me, I haven’t met a lot of elves in my profession.”

“Most of us still prefer to keep to the elven realm, despite the gates being open,” the uninjured elf nodded. Combeferre wished he’d asked their names.

As if reading his thoughts the dragon shook himself and shot up from the place he had occupied on the cot next to his friend, saying, “Oh, where are my manners! We haven’t introduced ourselves! What an oversight, kind Sir, forgive us. My name is Courfeyrac, that fellow behind you is Marius and our fallen comrade is Enjolras.”

Enjolras moaned in pain.

“My name is Combeferre,” he said to Courfeyrac, and, “Give me your hand,” he said to Enjolras.

The elf extended his right arm and Combeferre took his palm between both of his, examining the wound. It was like someone had stabbed him with a stiletto but the contours of the injury were black. 

“A manticore,” he hissed.

“I am going to burn your brother alive, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac pronounced. 

“Don’t,” Enjolras replied, tossing his head on the pillow. “That would kill me too.”

“This won’t do,” Combeferre said, gesturing for Marius to put down everything he was carrying.

Later, when Combeferre had prepared the correct antidote and bandaged Enjolras’ hand, he asked, “Have you come directly from the elven realm?”

“Oh no,” Courfeyrac said. “We left the elven realm a few months ago, then we went to my home in La Grotte de Lebeli, had to make a detour through the La Grotte des Druides.”

Combeferre winced, the druids were at their fiercest after recently some humans tried to invade their home a few years ago.

“That couldn’t have been an easy journey,” Combeferre said.

“The important thing is the memories we made along the way,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre didn’t know if he was joking or if he was serious.

“I almost died!” Marius protested, staring at Courfeyrac with wide eyes.

“That was my favourite memory,” Enjolras mumbled, clearly high on the herbs Combeferre had given him for the pain. 

***

The problem with being a demon was that nothing was sacred. Life was a game, it was a cruel joke, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault that the world was full of bad omens. By all accounts, Grantaire knew history was a practice of ignoring things and hoping for the best. You could drive yourself crazy with looking. 

Grantaire didn’t want to look anymore, but fortunately he discovered his remedy in alcohol.

But when he saw another way out, well, no one could really blame him for trying what he did.

The Demon King amulet was crafted when Pangea disjoined. This event occurred in the span of 170 million years, in which the earth and sea shifted, the energy transformation that occured then has to be surprised yet. Birthed as it was in an age of alteration, the amulet could transmute Spiritual energy as its main purpose. 

The amulet was not created by the the Demon King, but he was its first master, how a magical piece that powerful came to be in the elves hands, only the King knew, but it was Grantaire who was tasked to retrieve it, simply because he was the demon closest to the main elven realm gates.

The world righted itself when he came up to the normal world again, entering the elven realm had felt like flipping a coin. When he resurfaced in the Parisian streets, it was nearly dusk and it occurred to him that there was no reason he couldn’t use the amulet to use his Spiritual energy and get something new all the other way of the spectrum. 

It hadn’t worked.

***

18th century. Paris

Jehan was not a normal angel. From their birth at the bottom of a volcano, their contrasting nature of preferring cold climates, all to their elevated capacity for empathy and their strong emotions that set them apart from their kin. 

Their first couple of millenia in the Spiritual realm they spent with their head in the clouds, metaphorically and literally. The Spiritual realm was filled with enough pretty things to look at and sing about, but when they felt they’d seen and sang enough, they decided to adopt a human appearance and visit the Corporeal realm themselves for a change.

Mostly, Jehan was horrified at the state of the world, they could see the pain humans, magical folk, and monsters alike felt, the poverty in the countries. A sort of grief settled into their bones. They tried to get rid of it, they ate root vegetables because the healer said it would ground them, so their head would not fly away to where the darkness lived. 

But at the end letting it fly away was what cured him, they looked at the nature around them, at the fantastic creatures that lived in the world, then he noticed that as abundant as pain was, there was another feeling that permeated everything: love. 

They started writing poems, as their bones begged them to.

18 Little George Street, London was a gathering place for poets and radicals. Coleridge, Wordsworth, _Shelley_. 

Shelly was Jehan’s first love, the printing press in the basement was his second. 

***

Enjolras had always known that the way of the monarchy was not the way he’d have liked his people to follow, he'd lost his brother for an illusion, and invariably someone already in the throne would want more. Trying to hoard the throne for longer than necessary was sacrilege, but already one of the kings in the elven realm had tried to use a demonic amulet to stay in the throne. 

When he'd found out about it, he’d told Courfeyrac that they needed to leave the elven realm for a little while, Courfeyrac had proposed that they visited his hometown, and that was how he ended up here, in a wizard's home, reading pamphlets about the revolution that someone had written in London. Combeferre had not only nursed Enjolras to health, he'd also let them stay with him. 

“What are you thinking about?” Enjolras asked. 

He’d been glancing at Combeferre form the corner of his eye as he stared out the window for the last hour, the soft rain pattered outside. 

“I was thinking about what you did,” Combeferre said still staring at the rain. 

“What did I do?”

“You made an entire _empire_ change to accept the rest of us,” he said, this time turning to face him.

Enjolras winced at the word empire. 

“We took a gamble,” he said, shrugging. “But I was being truthful, I was not going back without him.” They both turned to look at Courfeyrac, sleeping placidly on Combeferre’s favorite chair.

If Montparnasse knew about something, be it a place or a person, it was a matter of time before Enjolras knew about it as well. The knowledge of how to leave the elven realm had been so large, so important that Enjolras had been going crazy sitting at home instead of following. The first time he’d left the elven realm he’d barely been thinking what he was doing, but since then he’d learned so much that sometimes he felt like a different person. 

“But you trusted them to make the right call, you trusted all of them,” Combeferre said.

“I - yes, I trusted the people,” he said, not knowing what else to say. 

“Would you be willing to trust them one more time?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. 

“Would you trust them to rule themselves?”

Enjolras didn’t speak for a whole minute, for a beat he wondered how Combeferre could know what Enjolras was thinking about before, but then he realized Combeferre didn’t know, he’d been thinking about it himself.

“Yes,” he said again.

“All right, first I need you to do something for me,” Combeferre said, smiling. 

“What is it?”

“Be my fiancé.”

It was a while before Enjolras’ eyebrows climbed down to their normal level.

***

While on their first date, Lesgle accidentally hit his head on the restaurant’s coral beam. Now, when they just managed to drag Musichetta from the Moselle Lake to the city for their first date, Joly can’t be too surprised that this happened. 

“Do you think he crashed the chariot on purpose?” Musichetta asked.

Joly just smiled at her.

“What bothers me,” he said. “It’s that we’ve lost track of him.” 

He stretched his neck to get a glimpse of the commotion ahead of them over all the parisians, but his efforts were in vain. Musichetta interlaced their arms together.

“Shall we look for him?” she asked, smooth.

“Certainly,” he said, and gripping his cane more securely, they proceed down the streets. 

At one point it had been necessary to divide off in different directions to cover more ground in their search. It was Joly who found the whereabouts of Leigsle and when he did, he was forced to retreat and call for backup.

He found Musichetta buying flowers from a street vendor sometime later.

“I imagine our dear Bosuett could be in need of cheering when we find him,” she said, raising the flowers in explanation.

“Oh he definitely will need cheering!” Joly proclaimed, then took Musichetta by the hand and steered her in the direction he’d come from. “Come, dearest, we're bailing Leigsle out of the asylum!”

Later, when Joly was relating the tale of their daring escape to Grantaire, a friend - and a demon! - he’d meet a years back when he’d been running away from the french revolution, Grantaire teasingly asked, “Are you certain she can handle your crazy?” 

Grantaire had become a dear friend when not long after meeting, he’d been buying fresh bread at a baker, Joly had also been there, but he hadn’t know if Grantaire was aware of his presence. Joly was an ashray, a creature of the water like Bossuet and Musichetta, his body underwater was completely translucent and he was intermittently invisible during the day if he left the water. He’d been doing it that day, hence why he would understand if Grantaire left none the wiser that Joly had been there. But Grantaire had paused at the door, turned around and said, “Are you coming, Joly?”

“She is crazier than us,” Joly said now, winking.

***

20th century

The elven realm was lost.


	3. GRANTAIRE PART I

21st century. Las Vegas.

This was embarrassing, Grantaire thought, and closed the door on the face of the eldritch abomination that was on the other side. 

He couldn’t find the exit from hell. It’d been a while since he’d stayed so long here, but with the curse that made it physically incapable for him to drink alcohol, he preferred to leave the humans and the magical creatures to their devices at least for a little while. He dared anyone - demon, angel or monster - to stand that mess for long without a drop of alcohol. 

Hmm, maybe it was through this door.

He stepped into a dark room, it looked like a church but it was dilapidated, and he couldn’t find any figure belonging to any deity either a human or other creature believed in. Instead it was filled with strange effigies of demons he’d never seen before, and the room was stuffed with a presence, a giant one, like Grantaire was an ant and the presence was observing him from behind a magnifying glass.

"Grantaire," it hissed.

"It's ok,” Grantaire said, hunched in on himself. “I was just leaving," he said and proceeded to do just that. The door closed behind him with a bang.

Third door made the trick, but once he stepped into the Corporeal realm he discovered that he was an ocean away from where he wanted to be. 

“America,” he said with distaste. 

It made sense, as this country had the most amount of doors to hell in the entire world, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Then he looked more closely at where he’d turned up and gasped when he saw the Eiffel Tower.

“No!” he said. Las Vegas.

He ended up in the bar of a casino - the farthest away he could get from the awful miniature of the _Tour Eiffel_ \- frowning down into a drink he couldn't consume, sulking about his predicament. He could travel to any place on earth with a snap of his fingers, but the more he thought about it, the more he began thinking he should stay here at least for a while.

He knew some people who were in the states at the moment. The Moselle trio were here somewhere, he’d heard Musichetta wanted to _travel_ ; Eponine and her siblings had moved business _here_ , to all places, but he could understand their reasoning: what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. Furthermore, this place was a magnet to all kinds of magical creatures, and their energy blended in a way that masked his. Here, there were too many distractions for lesser demons, and it was too gaudy for the bigger fish.

He would stay, he decided. With a flick of his fingers he disappeared a bottle of whiskey from the bar when no one was looking, for his collection. 

***

“Hello Gavroche,” Grantaire said. 

The boy was sitting on an upturned urn that looked to be at least two hundred years old outside of his family’s antique shop, snug between two special chocolate-only stores: Reese’s and Hershey’s. The boy was living the dream; or not, as he only looked up the briefest of seconds to give Grantaire a deadpan look and continued playing on his phone. 

“It’s been a while Grantaire,” Azelma said when he entered. 

“Has it?” He asked genuinely curious.

“Two years,” she answered.

“Well, would you look at that.” 

The best idea the casino owners had ever had was to remove windows and clocks from the playrooms and bars.

“So,” he said, resting his arm on the counter and throwing a charming smile at Azelma. “Have you made headway about my requisition in this couple of years?”

She scowled at him.

“What you want doesn’t exist,” she said. “There's no charm, spell or potion that can lift a damnation bestowed by a demon.” 

“Don’t I know it,” he mumbled.

“But I do have something for you.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Information. Someone's been asking about you.”

“Oh fuck,” he said, vehemently. “Another demon?”

“Nope,” she said. She fell silent after that.

“Seriously? You're not going to tell me?” He growled.

“I won’t tell, will you pay?” She began singing. “Set a price, then I’ll help.”

“You’re just as bad as your sister,” he accused. 

She swatted his accusing finger away from her face and stared at him with the cold intensity some spirits had. 

“Fine, what do you want?” he relented.

“I want the bottle you lifted from the bar today,” she said, pointing to the inside of his jacket.

“What? I can’t give you that! This is an almond tequila, you monster! I might not be able to drink it today, but some day -”

“This is how they found you, you know,” she said, making a grabbing motion with her hand. “You’re a lone man that gambles rarely and halfheartedly and only pretends to drink. You stand out like a sore thumb in Las Vegas.”

“Oh, _now_ you feel like talking,” he said, passing the bottle to her.

“All right.” She straightened. “Do you remember why the elven realm started interacting with the rest of the world?”

“Because a dragon fell in love with the most beautiful elf of his generation? Listen, I saw the elf myself, I’d have burned a city for him if he’d wanted me too. I’m not surprised an entire realm rearranged itself for him.”

“I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, and signalled for her to continue.

“Well, I don’t know about the elf, but the dragon was here.”

“And he was the one that asked about me?” Skepticism was loud in his voice. He didn’t own Enjolras’ dragon money, that he recalled. He’d never met him at all.

She nodded. 

“Did you tell him anything?”

“No, he didn’t want to part with the enchanted flute I asked for payment.” She shrugged, then she tilted her head. “Why is he looking for you?”

He shrugged, he would like to know as well.

***

As Azelma had said, he didn’t gamble that often, but when he did, he didn’t hit the casinos. Grantaire played poker with morally dubious monsters in the dark backrooms of store buildings. Poker wasn’t the most exciting of card games, despite what movies would have you believe, but the way they played made up for it. Cheating wasn’t penalized, it was encouraged even, and the winner? The person who cheated the best. That didn’t mean that Grantaire’s playfellows were gracious losers.

The kelpie in front of him was about to throw down his cards triumphantly, much to the delight of his friends flanking him, but Grantaire raised up a finger.

“Excuse me gentlemen, this is mine,” he said.

He extended a hand and pulled out a hidden card from between the kelpie’s shoulder and his jacket. He showed it to all of them. 

“I believe I won,” he grinned. 

With a snap of his fingers he made the wades of cash on the table disappear. This is how he’d been able to afford a penthouse in California. It had a big bathtub and a parking lot. 

He stood up, puffed and blew, adjusted the lapels of his blazer like he’d made a great physical effort. He was almost to the door, when he heard the scrap of chair legs against the floor. 

“Are you insane ma, he’s a _demon_.”

“Demon or not, I’m not losing all that money!”

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He rounded on the kelpie, even in his human appearance he towered at least a head over Grantaire, and he was no short man. Grantaire smirked up at him, showing all his teeth.

“You should listen to your friend,” He said, prying the hand from his shoulder and mouthing, _demon_ , then he crossed himself ironically and winked, making the lights go out. He snapped his fingers and appeared inside his favourite bar. He was more than capable of holding himself in a fight, but when he could, he preferred a smoother way of dealing with his problems, which coincidentally was a way in which he didn’t have to deal with them at all.

The Corinthe was Musicheetta’s owned bar. It was near both the border with Nevada and the Lake Havasu so that the less adventurous patrons could still say they’d been near Las Vegas, and close enough to a water source that the unholy trio could remain strong and in their human forms.

“Hello, Grantaire, starting early?”

“Don’t tease me, Chetta.”

“But then what’d I do with my fridays?”

“I’ll have nightmares just thinking about it,” he said, and shuddered dramatically. She laughed at him. “I came to bring you your keys so you don’t have to stand outside our door until one of your boyfriends decides to show up,” he said and put the aforementioned keys on top the bar.

“Oh, thanks, I thought I’ve lost those.”

“No, I stole them from you because you kept stealing liquor from my stash, but then I remembered I actually liked you,” he said.

“You can’t drink! And I’m running a business!” She started the familiar spiel. 

“Yeah, yeah, heard it, see you tonight,” he said. He waved at her as he opened the personnel-only door.

“Bossuet!” he called.

“I’m bald, man, not deaf,” Bossuet complained as he stepped out of the store room.

“Listen,” he continued. “I think I’m about to do it.”

“Do what?” Bossuet asked as he lifted a bottle of vodka.

“Obtain the Spiritual energy I need to become an angel.”

Bossuet dropped the bottle.

“What, nothing to say?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m happy for you,” he said, sounding not at all happy. “I’m just confused, I thought that the only way to do that was -”

“Eating the flesh of an elf, yes.” Grantaire interrupted impatiently. “There’s a dragon asking about me, one that’s been trailing an elf for the last five centuries, coincidentally.”

“Oh, Grantaire no,” Bossuet groaned. 

“What?” He asked. “You know what, it doesn’t matter, I was just letting you know I’ll probably won’t come home tonight, oh and don’t tell Joly, it’d probably upset him.”

“Yeah? You think!” Bossuet yelled after him, sarcasm heavy, but Grantaire was already gone.

***

It took only a couple of hours of sitting on a barstool nursing a drink just for the sake of it, but eventually he sensed it: an energy vibrant like the owner had swallowed lightning, blinding and burning like the sun. 

“Can I buy you another of those?” Enjolras asked when he came into view and sat down next to Grantaire. 

“Ah, a man after my heart,” Grantaire said, looking at him.

Said heart clenched at the sight of Enjolras, he’d changed since the very first time he saw him but not by much. Still fierce, still breathtaking. 

“Grantaire, wasn’t it?” Enjolras asked, signaling the bartender for a drink. “I want to talk to you about something delicate.”

“I heard,” he said, “I can’t drink it,” he continued as he lifted his glass, and then to answer Enjolras’ questioning glance: “I was damned.” He smiled wryly. 

Enjolras considered him for an indeterminable amount of time, it felt like an eternity to Grantaire.

“May I?” Enjolras asked finally, taking the glass from Grantaire’s hand. 

Grantaire glanced at him, confused, as Enjolras pulled out a small knife from his red jacket’s pocket. It was obvious this was no human knife.

He stared as Enjolras dug the tip of the blade into his fingertip until a drop of red blood welled up to the surface, it turned a gold tint in a second after being exposed to the air and Enjolras let it drop into his drink which also flashed gold before settling back into its amber color. 

“Try it now,” Enjolras said.

Sceptical, Grantaire raised the glass to his lips, half to humor Enjolras, half because he was honestly hoping that finally -

Astonishment wouldn’t be strong enough a word to describe what Grantaire felt when the taste of alcohol hit his tongue. He made an obscene sound and looked up to Enjolras’ self-satisfied expression.

“Marry me,” Grantaire groaned, after he’d downed his drink whole.

Enjolras’ mouth pulled down into a frown. 

“No, thanks,” he said, shooting the empty glass a brief, dark look. “But you can tell me something I need to know, as a thank you.”

“Hm,” Grantaire said, already thinking about the next drink. Just then the gorgon who tended the bar brought Enjolras the drink he had ordered. 

Grantaire nodded at Enjolras, and not even he could tell if it was acknowledgement of his request or if it was a nonverbal way of telling him to drop another bead of blood into the three fingers of scotch. Enjolras ignored him.

“I know you were in the elf realm to recover the Demon King amulet,” he said. “The king of the green-wood elves tried to use it to become immortal,” he said with distaste. “The rest of the royals took it from him but none of them wanted to keep it, that’s why they let you inside the realm, so you could take it from their hands,” Enjolras finished. His little speech had been recited with the eagerness of those who knew they were right, but his silence now indicated that he wanted Grantaire to verify everything he’d just said. 

“You know what, I’m going to need more much than one drink for this conversation,” Grantaire said, overwhelmed.

“Alright,” Enjolras said, irritated and snatched the drink to pour a couple droplets of blood into it, and Grantaire discovered he enjoyed when Enjolras dropped the diplomat act and got riled up. 

Grantaire observed the process avidly. If just a few drops of this elf could momentarily lift a curse - a damnation - as strong as the one on Grantaire, then the rest of him was more than enough to boost Grantaire all the way to the status of angel and then more. No one bothered you when you were an angel, no one could control you, not really, there were no kings in heaven - Enjolras was talking again, but Grantaire barely heard him.

“I need to know what you did with it,” he was saying. “I was planning on asking any demon I could find, I was going to ask all of them, but now you’re here, and you can tell me. What did you do with it, Grantaire? Grantaire?”

Grantaire shook himself and made eye contact with Enjolras, it was still a while before he could process what he’d said, but when he did he recoiled.

“No. _Hell_ , no!” He remembered the drink in his hand and took a long sip before continuing. “I was damned because of that thing! I don’t want to hear or talk about it ever again.”

Enjolras’ face transformed, he couldn’t call it a scowl because even now he looked unfailingly beautiful. Suddenly Grantaire couldn’t imagine killing him and eating his flesh just like that, something ached in his chest at the idea. He couldn’t let Enjolras die… not before he at least let him enjoy one last night.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked.

“New deal,” he said, feeling determined to make this the best last night for Enjolras. “You drink with me,” he continued, and signaled the bartender for more drinks. “Then I’ll talk.”

Enjolras looked like he was about to start screaming at him, but visibly restrained himself at the last minute. A pity, Grantaire thought. He wanted to know what that intensity looked like unbounded. 

“Damn, those diplomats really got you, huh?” He mumbled into his glass.

Enjolras just glared at him and raised his own drink to his lips when it finally arrived, staring at Grantaire as if it was a challenge. Grantaire smiled besottedly at him. Then extended his glass so that Enjolras could bleed over it some more.

“Alright,” he said after he’d finished his fourth drink - fourth! - and Enjolras his second, already a blush was creeping up over his golden skin. Grantaire felt a pang of concern, did Enjolras blood do something to him? Because suddenly he didn’t just want to eat him. He wanted to consume him.

“Alright,” he repeated, voice rough. “You want to know where it is?” 

Enjolras nodded eagerly.

“That’s easy, it’s in hell.”

“The Spiritual realm?” Enjolras frowned.

“Yup,” he said, popping the p. “They confiscated it after I - um.” He glanced to the side but Enjolras was still frowning down at the bar like he was trying to intimidate it. He didn’t look like he’d noticed Grantaire’s slip.

The drinks kept coming, Enjolras kept stabbing his finger. Grantaire kept getting drunk. Some time and a lot of alcohol later, Enjolras huffed, frustrated. 

“I really thought they’d leave it in the Corporeal realm,” he says. A few strands of hair fell into his face. Grantaire had the stupid urge to touch them. “Is there any way to recover it?”

Grantaire snorted, still staring. 

“I’m guessing you already went through all the options in your head just now, neither you nor the dragon and the wizard that follow you everywhere can get into the Spiritual realm.”

Grantaire was surprised into stillness.

“There’s nothing,” he enunciated carefully. “That you could offer me that’d make me do that.”

“Really, nothing?” Enjolras leaned closer, almost falling from his stool, he peered up into Grantaire’s eyes, clueing Grantaire into the fact that he was far more intoxicated than he looked. He’d probably not remember the end of the night at all. That last thought was what gave Grantaire the courage to ask what he did. There was only one thing he wanted from Enjolras.

“Would you be willing to die for it?” His voice was soft, he could barely listen to himself. 

Enjolras looked stunned. His lips were parted, his eyes wide, some unknown emotion shining from the bottom of his soul through them. 

“Yes,” he said.

That’s the last thing Grantaire remembered about that night.

***

“So no idea where he is,” said Bossuet. 

“I didn’t exactly ask him to stay for breakfast, so I couldn’t ask,” Grantaire said, a little more subdued than before due to a potion Musichetta had given him for the hangover.

“I don’t think mentioning food would’ve gone well after you told him you were going to eat him!” Joly screamed. Musichetta nodded, then she frowned, considering, and snached the potion Grantaire was drinking from his hands.

“Hey,” he said without heat.

“Sometimes you’re a real asshole,” she said.

“Whatever. No need to know where he is, I’m just going to pretend this never happened,” he said, swivelling on his stool to stand up.

“You swore an oath,” the ring hissed again, just as Grantaire reached the door.

“After I find a way to take off this thing,” he grumbled, and left.

***

***

The very last thing Grantaire was expecting when he exited the elevator into the penthouse’s lobby was to see Enjolras leaned against his door like he belonged there. Grantaire noticed him first, and the two people flanking him second. He hazarded a guess that these were the elf’s darling dragon and wizard. 

The former was dressed in black slacks, black graphic shirt and a green blazer, the wizard was donning a dark purple shirt and expensive-looking jeans. Enjolras had gotten changed, he no longer wore the same clothes as when he’d left Grantaire’s hotel room a few hours ago, but his red jacket was still present. Grantaire didn’t know what he expected would happen if he ever saw Enjolras again, but the pang of attraction he felt was not it.

“Tell me again, why did we have to come to the States?” Grantaire could hear the dragon complain. “Why not Canada? At least they speak French there.”

“A bastardization of it,” the wizard answered him.

“What are you doing here?” Grantaire asked, approaching them with a finger raised. Enjolras sighed, he looked like he would’ve preferred not to be there. Well, that made two of them.

Grantaire was stopped in his tracks by a spell that hit him like a wall before he even got three feet from them. He glared at the wizard, who smiled amicably at him, making him scowl harder.

“Combeferre,” the wizard introduced himself. He was still smiling. It’d have been a nice smile, except his eyes screamed that he’d smit Grantaire if he so much as sneezed in their direction. Well, he’d try.

“I’m Courfeyrac,” the dragon said. “How you doing, man?”

“Not well,” Grantaire snarled at him, after a beat of just glaring at them. 

“Don’t be mean to him, he hasn’t done anything to you,” Enjolras snapped, frowning. 

“He’s blocking my house’s entrance,” Grantaire snapped back. “Actually, so are you!”

It seemed like Enjolras was going to fire something back, his glorious golden hair swaying in rhythm with his self-righteous, physics-defying _bullshit,_ but then Courfeyrac stepped on his foot, hard. Enjolras snapped his mouth shut.

“All the hotels are out of vacancy,” Enjolras said, recovering, at the same time Courfeyrac said, “We’re out of money for lodgings.”

Grantaire took a step back, flabbergasted.

“I thought I was going to tell him,” Enjolras hissed under his breath.

“I thought you were going to insult him,” Courfeyrac said in a miserable tone.

“What we’re trying to ask,” Combeferre interrupted. “Is that as we don’t have anywhere to stay in the immediate future, we were wondering if we could stay with you for a few days. It would also help to revert the issue of your accidental marriage faster if we can talk to each other.”

It sounded so damn reasonable when he said it, but Grantaire wasn’t having it. But before he could kick them out, there was a ping behind him and the unholy trio whom he shared house with vacated the elevator.

“Hands off,” Joly said, as Bossuet tried to sneakily reach for his Starbucks’ cup. “But yes you can have some,” he continued, and raised the straw to Bossuet's mouth, laughing. 

“What are we having?” Musichetta came to them and took a sip of coffee too. 

Grantaire cleared his throat.

“Oh, R, why -” Joly started. 

In mirror images of each other, the three stood there, gaping at Grantaire’s current pain in the ass. 

“Hi,” Courfeyrac said.

“Hey,” Enjolras deadpanned. 

“Hello,” Combeferre finished.

Oh no, Grantaire thought, they were six of them now.

Combeferre explained everything again, and Courfeyrac skirted around Grantaire to introduce himself, Enjolras following close.

One minute Grantaire was standing outside his home, saying, No, what the fuck, absolutely not. The next, he was pushed inside with the force of six people and listening to Musichetta saying, you can have any room you want.

“No, they cannot have any room they want,” he heard himself say. Musichetta sent him a look.

“This penthouse is two floors, it has eight bedrooms,” she said, deadpan.

“And two bathrooms,” he said. “That’s not the _point_.”

He loved the penthouse, entering there was an open floor that housed the living room, dining room and the kitchen and bathroom at the back. The living room rose on a short dais and was separated from the rest of the rooms by long curtains that were easy to lift. Everything was in light grey and cream colors and the kitchen was all chrome and black. Up the stairs there was the master bedroom and guest rooms, plus another bathroom. 

“What is the point? To let your husband sleep on the streets?” Joly said, genuinely affronted.

Grantaire didn’t miss the way Enjolras winced at the word ‘husband’.

“The point is that we’re not actually married,” he said, instead of all the terrible things he could’ve said instead. “This is blackmail,” he said, holding Enjolras’ gaze.

“No, it’s not,” the elf said, irritably. “That’s not what blackmail means. If anything, this is coercion -” Courfeyrac stomped on his foot again.

Realistically, there was nothing preventing him from killing and eating Enjolras right now, except for the pitch black void that opened in his stomach when he thought about it. He could live with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta seeing the worst side of him. Probably. And he could take on the wizard who was staring at him coldly from behind his friends, despite the way his energy flizzed with a power so sharp Grantaire could taste it in the back of his mouth. 

“I mean,” Enjolras started. “Thank you, for letting us -”

“I don’t care about you,” Grantaire interrupted, Enjolras’ face closed off. He felt a sick stab of satisfaction. “And I don’t care what you do,” he continued, and somehow he’d closed off the distance between them so that he had to tilt his head to maintain eye contact. “But there’s something you need to know about demons.” He spoke softly to him. “Demons, like the heart, never forget.” 

From the corner of his eye he noticed Combeferre sliding closer and he took a step back. He took a moment to analyze the contours of Enjolras face before he took the stairs to his room. Once there he let himself fall to the bed and stared at the place where wall met wall. 

Demons didn’t forget. 

Demon’s emotions were not fickle nor fleeting, they were not _human_. Relationships once forged - either in love or hate - didn't sway or break easily. Easy to say few were the demons who ever got bonded to another. Fewer still those who broke that bond. It usually broke only once one party was dead. 

Grantaire hissed when he realized that he was thinking about Enjolras’ face when he’d left. He’d expected him to look angry, maybe even disgusted, instead he’d looked sad. He needed to get rid of Enjolras before he got attached to him in any capacity, or this would not end well for him.


	4. MARIUS PART II

Over the last half millenia, Courfeyrac had acquired the impressive, if somewhat useless talent of guessing what food Marius would order before he even had the chance to look at the menu. Marius would be more impressed if Courfeyrac could also order something edible for himself, even just once. 

As it was, every time they went out to eat, they ended up ordering for each other and then awkwardly - on Marius’ end - switching plates when the waitress or waiter turned around.

“Are you sure you don’t need the money anymore?” Marius asked, picking up one of the tuna rolls that was the speciality of the sushi place they’d found to eat lunch. 

Marius had stayed behind a few days in their last location, somewhere down the border in Mexico because he’d needed to wait for his last cheque. Marius sighed inwardly remembering his latest translation work, it’d been erotica once again. Humans and elves weren't that different, he guessed. 

He’d joined his friends two weeks after they'd arrived in Nevada and booked a hotel room of his own for the time being. Even though they were the people in the Corporeal realm who he’d known the longest, he didn’t always share a home with them. 

Sometimes he didn’t even share the continent, preferring to stay in a quiet human town instead of throttling across the globe’s magical communities. But since the elven realm had been lost, Enjolras insisted in keeping Marius in his sights, or at least in the same country. Marius didn’t object, since he also felt better knowing at least another elf was out there in the world with him. 

Enjolras had even called Marius yesterday to confirm he’d be joining them soon, and when Marius had asked what he had missed, he’d told him nothing much. 

Once, Marius had asked if Enjolras also called his brother and he’d answered he’d never thought about it. That was how Marius had found out that Enjolras lied in phone conversations. So he was anticipating his assessment of ‘nothing much’ to be a bit off. He wasn’t expecting just how much.

“Don’t worry about the money,” Courfeyrac said, dismissing the thought with a hand. “Enjolras married a rich dude and we’re staying at his pethouse.”

Marius let his chopsticks fall. 

“What? Sorry, I thought you said -”

“You heard correctly,” Courfeyrac said, as if this wasn’t a big deal. Which it _was_ , unless -

“Another one of his plans?” 

Once upon a time, Marius had thought Enjolras to be an amorous person to the point of being reckless. His relationships had always been outstanding, intense and revolutionary, which of course, had been the point all along. With every partner Enjolras took, change was sure to follow for a large part of the magical community. But even though the fervor Enjolras felt for his partners was real, the nature of the relationships was fake.

“Not really,” Enjolras interrupted out of nowhere, sitting stiffly next to Courfeyrac. “I’m improvising.”

“Talk about the devil," Courfeyrac said. "I didn’t know we were coming, we could’ve left together.”

“ _Don't_ talk about the devil," he gritted out. "Hi Pontmercy,” Enjolras said, visibly checking him over. Marius made a hand gesture that was a greeting in the celestial clan and Enjolras relaxed marginally. “As I said, I’m improvising.”

“By that he means that we were the only ones at the house and he’s avoiding me,” another man said, coming behind Enjolras and Marius- he knew this man.

“ _Holsh-hkkk_ ,” Marius said, mouth full. 

“Does he choke on his food regularly?” the demon asked, raising an eyebrow at him and taking the free seat.

"I know you," Marius rasped when he could breathe again.

"Interesting," the demon said, not even looking up at him, he was now eating his tuna rolls. 

"You do?" Courfeyrac asked. Enjolras was now eating _his_ food. "His name is Grantaire, we're staying with him."

"No, you invaded my home," Grantaire grumbled. Then he continued to complain under his breath. 

Enjolras opened his mouth, no doubt to retort, but what came out was a yelp. At first Marius thought Grantaire had done something to him, kicked him under the table perhaps. But Enjolras was clutching his hand.

"Let me see," Courfeyrac said.

Grantaire looked on curiously as Courfeyrac inspected another Montparnasse-induced injury, and Marius took the chance to retrieve his food.

"What happened to him? That looks like a fork-stab."

"I thought you didn't care about me," Enjolras said with narrowed eyes.

"I don't," Grantaire snapped, leaning back. "But if someone's trying to eat you before I do…"

"What? Eating?" Marius asked, alarmed.

"No one's eating anyone," Courfeyrac said firmly.

"We'll see," Grantaire said, checking his watch. "And on that note, I have a meeting with my lawyer." He smirked as Enjolras snarled at him.

"You're getting a divorce so soon?" Marius asked when Grantaire was gone.

"You think that's what he meant?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Most likely," Enjolras said, now Marius could see the four red indentations that marred his skin. "I hope he finds a way to take these off at least," he said darkly, and raised his other hand, displaying a black band, encrusted with one diamond on his ring finger.

"But Enjolras," Courfeyrac said in a tone of voice that always precluded trouble. "He has a permanent parking slot." 

" _That's_ your priority?" Enjolras glowered at him. "You don't even have a car!"

"No," Courfeyrac said, grinning. "But he does." He brandished a set of keys, belonging to a Mercedes-Benz going by the keychain.

"How did you-" Marius started. “You’re reinforcing dragon stereotypes.” 

"Come on." Enjolras stood up. "Before he realizes you stole them."

“I am _borrowing_ them,” Courfeyrac protested. 

Marius scrambled to his feet, paid, and followed them out. 

“He did say he would eat you,” Courfeyrac continued. “So I don’t feel that bad.”

***

That day found Marius eating dinner with Courfeyrac and a stranger in a strange place. Well, the selkie had introduced himself as Bossuet, but since then Marius had spoken five words to him so he was still a stranger. He didn’t have the same capacity as Courfeyrac to be comfortable around new people. 

Enjolras and Combeferre had gone out, he didn’t know the details, so that left him sitting at the table with Courfeyrac when he heard the front door open and Grantaire came home in a flurry of movement.

“Hey!” the demon snarled when he spotted them. “Tell Enjolras that if my car has one single scratch I’m going to eat him before I divorce him!” he finished, grumbling. His hands were gripping the backseat of the chair next to Marius and he was glaring at nothing in particular, his energy curled around him like smoke. 

Courfeyrac stared at the demon like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then he fished out the keys from his pocket.

“Enjolras didn’t take your keys, I did,” he said, throwing the keys at him. “Relax, nothing happened to it.”

Except there was now a speeding ticket with the license plates of the Mercedes-Benz, but Marius wasn’t going to tell Grantaire that.

He’d been so focused on Grantaire outburst that he hadn’t noticed that another man had arrived with Grantaire. Marius couldn’t understand how he hadn't, because this was a difficult man to overlook. 

“Hey, Grantaire you can travel anywhere in the blink of an eye, why do you need a car?” The man chuckled. 

Marius looked up, and then looked up some more, to the man’s face. This man didn’t look so much like a brick house, more he was just very firmly built, and he was sporting the beginnings of a beard. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side, asshole,” Grantaire complained.

“Bahorel! I thought I’d heard you,” Bossuet said. He exited the kitchen, which only had one partition that separated it from the rest of the open plan house, with a tray of… something.

“You let him cook?” Grantaire asked Courfeyrac, going pale.

“Oh hush, my cooking is good,” Bossuet said, taking a seat. Bahorel shook his head behind his back.

“We’re back,” Enjolras said, appearing in the living room, Combeferre closed the door behind them. They left their jackets over the couch and joined them at the table.

“Where were you?” Marius asked in a stage whisper, afraid Grantaire would turn the force of his scowl on him, but he shouldn’t have worried, he was steadily scowling at Enjolras, who in turn was ignoring him.

“You didn’t add him to the group chat?” Combeferre asked Enjolras.

“I forgot,” he sighed. “Give me a second.” He took out his phone and began tapping at it.

“You’re right on time!” Bahorel said, shoving the plate Bossuet had given him to Combeferre. 

“This is Bahorel!” Courfeyrac said. “He’s Grantaire’s friend.”

“He’s my lawyer actually,” Grantaire said.

“I never graduated.” Bahorel winked at Enjolras, who only looked confused.

“Whatever.” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Right,” Enjolras said. “So can you, um get us divorced?” 

“And take this off,” Grantaire said, showing them his hand, on his finger was the same wedding band that rested on Enjolras’. 

“Yeah, about that…” Bahorel started.

“What,” Grantaire said, dangerously low. “You didn’t tell me there was an ‘about that’.”

“What do you want from me man? You’re the one that got a pagan wedding in Las Vegas and swore -”

“You swore an oath,” the rings hissed. Marius blinked.

“Yeah, that!” Bahorel said. “I’ve never heard of any ritual that does that! Where did you even get those things?”

“Beats me,” Grantaire said, as he let himself fall on a chair.

“Still,” Enjolras said, somewhat despairingly. “There should be a marriage certificate somewhere." 

"Yeah, about that," Bahorel said.

"Oh, now what?"

“You remember Judge Multon?”

“My fist remembers his face,” Grantaire said after a little consideration.

“You punched a judge?” Courfeyrac asked.

Combeferre choked, promoting Grantaire to roll his eyes.

“It’s the food,” he wheezed. Courfeyrac patted his back. 

“I could go talk to him,” Enjolras said.

“Good idea,” Combeferre rasped. “Don’t punch the judge.”

***

“What are you still doing in my house,” Grantaire asked.

Marius raised his head to stare as Grantaire crossed the living room and approached the table. He looked like he hadn’t sleep a wink last night, his hair was standing in up in different directions like he’d spent the night tossing and turning. His voice was gruff, but Marius had an inkling it was more out of disuse than genuine irritation. 

“I’m having breakfast,” Marius answered, and shoveled more food into his mouth. 

“Leave the kid alone, R,” Joly said. He was seating at the table between Bossuet and Musichetta, the three of them comfortable while lazing around having breakfast.

Grantaire didn’t bother with more words, he just served himself and sat down next to Marius.

Fifteen minutes into their breakfast, everyone’s phones went off with notifications. Everyone’s but Grantaire's, who barely lifted his eyes from his plate. Marius unblocked his phone to a text form the group chat Enjolras had added him last night.

“It’s Courfeyrac,” Musichetta said, reading the text, Joly and Bossuet apparently deciding to let her take care of it for the three of them.

“You’re in the group chat with the dragon?” Grantaire asked showing a little bit more interest.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at Joly and Bossuet. Marius couldn't read them very well, but it looked like she was expressing bewilderment. 

“Wait, you all are?” Grantaire pointed at the three of them with his fork.

“Enjolras didn’t invite you?” Bossuet asked.

Grantaire looked vaguely offended that apparently, Enjolras hadn’t, Musichetta hid behind her phone, Marius hid his own phone under the table and continued reading.

“Do you want me to add you?” Joly asked.

“No,” Grantaire snapped. “I don’t want to be in your stupid group chat.”

“All right, if it bothers you so much we’ll never talk about it again,” Joly said, innocence incarnate.

“Do you want more bacon?” Bossuet asked. 

“No,” Grantaire snapped, clearly sulking now.

“All right we won’t ever offer you bacon again,” Joly reassured. Grantaire gave him a betrayed look.

Since Bossuet was laughing under his breath, Marius judged safe to smile. 

“Good morning!” came Bahorel’s voice from the lobby. “When was the last time we all went out together?” He asked, then he noticed Marius. “Hello Marius, you haven’t been participant to our escapades, perfect! You have to come with us!”

“How about you let them finish their breakfast before you invite them to get shit faced, Bahorel,” someone new said.

“Hi Feuilly, Bahorel,” Bossuet said, waving at them. 

“Did you bring the coffee?” Musichetta asked.

Feuilly fished his phone from his pocket and went through it before answering.

“You didn’t asked us to bring it,” he said, phone raised as if to show he didn’t receive her text.

“Weren’t vampires supposed to stay outside until you invite them in?” Grantaire mumbled, redirecting his anger probably.

“That’s a myth, I know you know that,” Feuilly said and rolled his eyes. “Like elves’ pointy ears, a human invention.”

Grantaire made a point to look at Marius’ ears, as if to make sure. Feuilly rolled his eyes again.

“Hi, I’m Feuilly,” he said to Marius, coming to sit down on Marius’ other side, probably in sympathy due to Grantaire’s teasing. 

“Speaking of elves,” Bahorel said. “You heard that Enjolras made Judge Milton cry?” He asked with delight in his voice.

“Who told you that?” Grantaire asked, brows furrowed.

“Well, I guess he only promised not to punch him,” Joly said, raising to go to the kitchen. 

“Courfeyrac sent it to the group chat,” Bahorel said. “Didn’t you see it?”

“R isn’t in the group chat,” Musichetta explained.

“Wait, you’re in the group chat? _You_?” Grantaire asked.

“Me and Feuilly both, yeah,” Bahorel shrugged. “Why aren’t you? Should I invite you?”

“He said that it was too bothersome, and that we shouldn’t add him,” Marius said, because he _had_ threatened to eat Enjolras. 

Grantaire closed his mouth with a click, and retreated the hand he’d extended to Bahorel with his phone.

“That’s fine I guess,” Feuilly said. “Baz is in it because they were going to update him in the marriage certificate status, I’m in it because Enjolras is in my book club.”

“Your book club?” Grantaire asked.

“Yeah man, I mentioned it to you before.”

“Don’t talk to me anymore,” Grantaire said.

“Oh, so you don’t wanna hear about the party?” Bahorel asked. “It’s tonight, Jehan is coming.”

It appeared that Grantaire wasn’t going to be swayed by that, when he didn’t say anything, so Bahorel only said, “Man, you’re really in a mood.”

The sound of the door opening reached them and then came Combeferre’s voice. The man himself appeared, and behind followed Enjolras. 

“Hi, we brought your Starbucks order!” He said, and indeed he was carrying the cups with both hands. “You sent it to us in the group chat,” he continued as Enjolras helped him pass the disposable cups around, everyone accepted theirs happily.

“Enjolras, Combeferre,” Bahorel started. “There’s a party tonight -”

“To which you are not invited,” Grantaire interjected, a little viciously.

“Ok?” Enjolras said, scrunching up his nose and turning to Combeferre as if he would have answers.

Marius could see Combeferre barely restraining an eye roll.

“Um,” Feuilly said, a finger raised as if preparing to go on a tire about why Enjolras should totally go to the party.

“Wait, but I am?” Marius surprised himself by asking.

“I suppose.” Grantaire shrugged. Then he was up and moving. “I take it you didn’t go anywhere with Judge Milton?” He asked Enjolras, and before the other could reply, he ploughed forward. “No? Ok, so you three.” He motioned vaguely to Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the last one blew him a smoke ring. “Can stay here and think about more ways to deal with this clusterfuck,” he said, signaling between himself and Enjolras, who narrowed his eyes at him. “While we all go out tonight, cool? Cool.”

“Where are you going?” Bahorel asked at Grantiare’s retreating back. 

“To clean up my collection of liquor!” He said, waving a hand over his shoulders.

“What are you doing Chetta?” Bossuet asked.

“I think I know her,” she said, staring intently at the logo of her Starbucks cup.

*** 

If Marius was honest with himself, he’d always wanted to leave the elven realm, but he’d never expected he would never return to it. It’d hurt at first, but now he didn’t though too much about it, not to the degree Enjolras did. 

Enjolras’ relationship with their homeland was complicated, but Marius didn’t doubt that he’d loved it, and that it had loved him in return. Marius didn’t know he could feel devotion like that until he met her.

Bahorel had neglected to mention that humans were invited to the party that he’d been dragged to in the end, but that was as so far as he could tell, in character with the werewolf, he was even worse than Courfeyrac, everybody was his friend.

Marius was waiting for the polite time to sneak out of the party, but people kept pulling him into their conversation circles, the magical creatures were fascinated with the fact that he was an elf, and increasingly inebriated people kept jostling him and asking him questions.

“He’s not that special,” a kitsune slurred in answer to her friend’s drunk enthusiasm. “He’s not the only elf out there, not even the only elf in this party.”

That caught Marius attention.

“He’s over there,” she said, pushing Marius deeper into the house.

“That’s fine,” he started. Then he saw exactly who the kitsune had meant with another elf.

Montparnasse was as tall as Enjolras, and dark where Enjolras was golden, but he was still definitely his brother. He was attractive in the rawest and truest sense, for Marius that meant that his energy called to his like a magnet, like Enjolras’ did at the beginning, but for the rest of the people he was attractive in his appearance, and he must’ve known if judging by the care he’d obviously out into his outfit. 

Marius wondered if Enjolras knew his brother was in the country. Lost on his thoughts, he was caught off guard by a second energy, much more powerful than Montparnasse’s but not as striking. He’d only ever felt an energy as old as this one once, when he met Grantaire. He noticed then the person sitting next to Montparnasse, a redhead talking animatedly, while ink stained hands cut through the air.

“Marius.” 

He startled and turned around to find Grantaire staring at Montparnasse and who could only be an angel, with a surprisingly serious expression. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

“You know him?” He nodded at Montparnasse.

“You know him too,” he said, and realized it was true while he said it. Grantaire already had a hard look on his face, like Montparnasse had offended him in an unknown but specific way. “He’s Enjolras’ twin. Remember the time he injured his hand?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “He’s getting too familiar with Jehan.” Marius didn’t know if he was still talking to him.

Only then Marius really listened to what the pair were saying, Jehan appeared to be reciting poetry, and by the faint blush on Montparnasse’s face, he was the subject. Marius caught only snatches of it.

_I like imagining your body is Saturn,_

_my body ten thousand rings wrapped around you._

Quite a compliment especially for a celestial elf. What was it with the twins and the Spiritually endowed?

“I have one too,” Grantaire interrupted suddenly as he approached them. He laid a hand on Jehan’s shoulder as he said, “A man with a heart like that, could have only become two things, a poet.” He smiled down at Jehan who was still sitting down. “Or a murderer.” 

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Montparnasse said, a little mocking, staring at Grantaire as it is was a challenge. “Yet.”

“Parnasse,” Jehan said.

“I know you married my brother,” he said, more forcefully than anyone was expecting, by Grantaire and Jehan’s faces.

“Who told you?” Grantaire asked.

“You got married?” Jehan exclaimed. “And you didn’t tell me? Grantaire -!”

“No one needed to tell me,” Montparnasse snorted.

“It’s really not like that,” Grantaire sighed, talking to Jehan.

Marius decided to leave them to it.

It was after that that he saw her. She was very clearly human, her energy didn’t have the smallest magical taste, but she was lovely, the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes upon. She was talking to Musichetta, her face was open and her eyes alive while she talked. 

He stared for so long that Musichetta approached him and asked him if he was ok, but when he didn’t answer she followed his gaze and smiled at him.

“Her name is Cosette,” she said. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

“Don’t you see the poor boy will have a heart attack if you make him talk to her, Chetta?” Bossuet asked, appearing out of nowhere. “I know what we must do instead.”

That’s how Marius ended up playing a kissing game with the love of his life. When she looked at him with something akin to interest, it felt like she’d uprooted the centuries from his soul and he was born again. When he noticed that she arranged the game so that she’d be kissing him, he decided that he would marry her.


	5. LES AMIS DE L'ABC PART II

Grantaire had said that it wasn’t like that, but not even the end of the world would have kept Jehan from visiting him and meeting his spouse. They were sure Enjolras would be wonderful, if not for any other reason that he was Montparnasse’s twin. They had asked him if he wanted to come, but Parnasse had only stared at them in that flint-hard way he used on anyone who wasn’t Jehan. They’d backed away after that.

He didn’t bother with the door like he knew R did, he only appeared in the middle of the living room.

“Holy shit!” someone screamed.

Said someone lit fire to the expensive throw pillows of the sofa in his fright and was now trying to extinguish the flames, all the while staring at Jehan with wide eyes.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” they said, sheepishly. He finished putting out the fire for the startled dragon.

“Courfeyrac, are you - Oh, hello?” A tall man with dark skin and glasses - a wizard, more precisely - came rushing into the room. Jehan had never seen them before, they could only assume that Grantaire had picked up more strays.

“Hello, I’m sorry about that,” they said, earnestly. “My name is -”

“Jehan.”

Jehan turned to the sound of someone emerging from the kitchen.

“Enjolras, do you know him?”

Jehan was about the correct the man, but Enjolras beat him to it.

“ _Them_ ,” he stressed. “And no, not really, but… Montparnasse does,” he finished and Jehan noticed his ears turning red. Yes, wonderful, Jehan liked him.

After being properly introduced to Enjolras’ friends and promising the elf that they would talk later, Jehan made his way to Grantaire’s room. He opened the door to quite a sight, he look it all only vaguely alarmed.

Grantaire wasn’t alone in his room, Bahorel and Feuilly were with him. Grantaire was propped up against a chair, his left hand laid atop the backrest and Feuilly was gripping it so hard his knuckles were white, trapping him. Jehan caught sight of a black wedding band, with a diamond encrusted in the middle adorning Grantaire’s pale hand before his attention was caught by Bahorel, who was above his friends, a chainsaw in hand and the intent to use it in his eyes.

“Stop moving -”

“If you cut him, can I have a snack?”

“What -”

“I won’t.”

“Just saying, you owe me.”

“Me? When -”

“Shut up! Both of you shut up!”

“Just do it -”

“Um, Grantaire?” Jehan asked. Immediately the three men fell silent. 

“Oh hi, Jehan,” Feuilly said, glaring at Bahorel until he hid the chainsaw behind himself. Jehan raised an eyebrow.

“Jehan -” Grantaire started.

“You swore an oath,” Grantaire’s hand hissed. No, it was the ring. Jehan was fascinated.

“Fuck this, Jehan close the door, Bahorel where’s the chainsaw?”

***

Combeferre had left Enjolras and Courfeyrac talking fervently with Jehan - who he knew by his Spiritual energy, was an angel - in the living room. Jehan had appeared mysteriously with a chainsaw, disturbing Courfeyrac greatly, but he’d calmed down when they found out Jehan had been the author of some political pamphlets they’d read way back in the french revolution times.

Combeferre had excused himself to check on a tracking spell he’d left running in his laptop. The invention of computer programing had improved his magic exorbitantly, magic was all about language, and the programming language was, in Combeferre’s hands, the most versatile of all. 

He should’ve been researching how to break the marital bond Enjolras had created by accident, but the elf had insisted that he tracked some minor demons for what they’d planned. That’s how Marius found him. 

“Hello Combeferre,” he said, and made the same hand gesture he made for Enjolras when he greeted him formally. It was endearing, that even though Marius knew their engagement had been false, he insisted in extending this courtesy to Combeferre, even a century after they’d broke it off. Endearing and suspicious, after all, Pontmercy had no reason to be formal with him now.

“All right, out with it,” Combeferre said.

“What?” Marius blinked at him.

“Whatever you want to talk about Marius, you can tell me,” he said, summoning strength, he had the feeling he’d need it.

“I - very well,” Marius said, and told Combeferre everything.

Combeferre snapped the laptop shut when Marius was done, Marius didn’t flinch.

“You want to become human,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a statement either, his words hung awkwardly in a middle state between the two.

“Yes,” Marius said, and for a moment he sounded like someone else.

“For a woman?”

“Combeferre, you don’t have to understand,” Marius said, his voice hiding a galaxy of emotions. “But I would really appreciate it if you could help me.”

Combeferre let out an explosive sigh.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re doing?” _Do you have any idea of what this will do to Enjolras?_

Marius didn’t hear the unspoken question, and if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Combeferre was for one short, wild second unimaginable angry at Marius, but the next second brought only resignation and the third, acceptance. Marius may look young, but he was not a child, he was older than Combeferre, and in all the years since they’d met, he’d never seen him like this.

“I can help,” he said. “When do you want to do this?”

Already the idea of a spell - the second most powerful he’d have crafted to date - started to take form at the back of his mind

“At the end of the month,” Marius said. “We want to get married before her dad takes her away back to France -”

“Oh my god,” Combeferre moaned. He was not going to say anything about it. He wasn’t.

“Hey guys,” Feuilly said, passing the kitchen island where him and Marius were talking and making a beeline for the fridge. It reminded Combeferre of something.

“I cannot cast the spell at the end of the month,” he said, glancing at Feuilly, who now was opening a bottle of what looked like craft beer, which he was positive no one in this house drank. “I’ll be helping Bahorel through the full moon.”

Feuilly perked up at the mention of the werewolf. Marius started to look crushed, but the Combeferre said, “It’ll have to be a magical artifact, not a spell, so you can do it without me.”

“Thank you!” Marius exclaimed over and over.

“What’s going on?” Feuilly asked in suspicion.

Marius stopped haltingly. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is it a secret, Marius?” he asked.

“N-no,” Marius answered. “I asked Combeferre to help me become human.”

Feuilly lowered down his beer and threw a glance at the living room, where Jehan, Courfeyrac and Enjolras were still talking.

“Well fuck,” he said.

***

Enjolras didn’t get nervous. He’d always been very sure of himself and his decisions, even as a kid, so it was a new and strange to second guess himself so much, but this situation, this whole marriage, had left him adrift in a stream of emotions that he couldn’t recognize.

He paced the length up the stairs, trying to convince himself that he he didn't need an excuse to talk with his husband. The he stopped short and wondered where that thought had that come from.

When Grantaire finally emerged from his room, Enjolras had reached a state of faux calm.

“Garantire,” he called. When the demon raised his head to the sound of his voice, Enjolras nodded at the slate of windows behind the dining room, a nook of privacy. He hadn't really expected Grantaire to follow but, to his surprise, he did.

“I need your help,” he said, without preamble. 

Grantaire remained stone faced in front of him and it irritated Enjolras, but he pushed it aside.

“Combeferre and I have been tracking a couple of minor demons, we would appreciate the help talking to them.”

“Why do you need -” Grantaire started, then huffed, exasperated. It was not the reaction Enjolras has been hoping for, but it was better than the stony silence. “You're actually crazy, you know? This is about the amulet?”

“You know it is, that is the whole reason we met.”

“Then that’s another reason to stay away from it,” Grantaire snapped. “It hasn’t brought you any good.” Grantaire said, rubbing his wedding band. Enjolras noticed a red stain on his hand and the felt a flash of concern before he realized it was paint.

Again, he felt a maelstrom of emotions and his chest felt uncomfortably tight, which he attributed entirely to the new feeling of doubting himself. What had really happened that night? Enjolras couldn't imagine ever doing something he didn’t want to do, so on principle, he felt a pang of defensiveness towards their relationship, and strangely, towards Grantaire, but it passed quickly. What mattered was the Demon King amulet, the elven people, to find and open the gates again.

“What is this really about Enjolras?”

“I can open it again,” he said. The feeling of doubt was gone, this he was sure of.

“The elven empire?” Grantaire asked, something creeping into his voice: mockery. Enjolras felt his blood boil. “You know, for someone who enjoys Jehan’s anti monarchy rants, you sure are very protective of a people who spent ninety nine percent of its lifespan with a monarchy boner.”

“That’s not true, I know it had to fall,” Enjolras said, felt his throat hurt with the way he’d said it. He’d spent more than a century working himself to the bone, making sure his people trusted the new way to elect a leader. Combeferre had worked even harder. “The age of kings and queens had to end, every single one of them illegitimate. My father himself was the son of an usurper.”

“And they had it coming, you can’t go home, but this isn’t your responsibility anymore Enjolras.”

Enjolras just stared at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He snapped.

“You don’t hate people,” Enjolras said, like a revelation. “You act like you do, but you don’t, they just disappoint you.”

Grantaire returned to his previous icy expression.

“You think you know me, you don’t, shut up,” he said when Enjolras opened his mouth. “You don’t know anything about me.”

The he left. Enjolras let him.

***

“Hey guys,” Joly said. He adjusted the laundry basket that he was carrying in one hand and his cane in the other. Then stopped short when he entered the kitchen.

“Um, what is he doing?” he asked.

Bossuet sighed, next to him were seated Enjolras and Combeferre at the kitchen island, while Grantaire appeared to be very busy with pans and mixing bowls, a stack of tupperware bowls was amassing to his left, these seemed to contain an assortment of sauces and dressings.

“He’s preparing gravy for when he finally decides to eat me,” Enjolras said, a sulky undertone in his voice.

“They’re fighting again,” Combeferre murmured.

“I’m that’s not true,” he started, but then caught sight of Bossuet’s pained expression and decided to change the topic. “Anyway, I’m here because we have a problem.”

“Oh, I know,” the selkie said. “I saw Bahorel claiming one of the guest bedrooms and he brought his electric guitar with him.”

“That’s a problem,” Joly acknowledged. “But I meant the laundry, my clothes keep disappearing, my socks too, and I don’t know if this underwear is mine?”

“Let’s just bought different brands from now on,” Courfeyrac said, entering the kitchen. “What is he doing?” He asked, noticing Grantaire.

“Ignore him,” Combeferre said. “Could you tell Marius that I have what he asked?”

When Courfeyrac didn’t answer, Combeferre asked, “Courfeyrac?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him.”Courfeyrac said awkwardly.

“What? What did he ask for?” Enjolras asked.

“Nothing,” Courfeyrac ressured. “Come on Enj, let’s go buy new underwear, you can choose the brands were going to use.” With that, he took Enjolras by the arm and forcefully guided him to the door.

“What? Now? But I was -” Enjolras said, and then his voice was too far away to make out. 

When they came back, Enjolras was sporting a black eye.

“What happened?” Musichetta asked, fretting over him.

Joly went to the fridge for the ice pack.

“Your brother?” Bossuet asked.

“Nope,” Courfeyrac said. “This one was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault!” Enjolras protested. Musichetta took a step back. “That asshole was being a bigot, ouch!” He yelped when Joly touched his skin with the ice.

“What asshole?” Grantaire asked from the top of the stairs. 

Joly could see the war of emotions plain on his face, it seemed that whatever he and Enjolras had fought about, it wasn’t important enough to pretend he didn’t care that Enjolras has hurt.

“The manager of the departmental store!” Enjolras answered, too angry to realize his husband’s inner turmoil. “The stupid griffin that said Courfeyrac stole something because he was a dragon!”

“All right, give me that.” He gestured impatiently for the ice pack. Joly passed it over and Grantaire tilted Enjolras’ face for better access.

Enjolras’ tirade got cut short when Grantaire pressed too strongly over the abused flesh.

“Oh, you don’t like that?” Grantaire asked with motherly cadence. “Then don’t get hurt, do you have a martyr complex?” His words trailed off as he concentrated in icing Enjolras’ injury.

“No?” Enjolras said. Grantaire snorted.

“This light is awful, let’s move to the windows,” Grantaire said, dragging Enjolras away.

“Usually Combeferre treats my injuries,” Enjolras said, but he didn’t sound like he minded. 

“You didn't marry Combeferre did you? Huh? Who did you marry?” Grantaire asked.

“Wow,” Courfeyrac said under his breath.

“You,” Enjolras answered sulkily.

“Well, that happened,” Joly said. 

“Did he at least get a punch in?” Bossuet asked.

“Oh yeah,” Courfeyrac said.

***

“Why are you doing this?” Enjolras asked.

“Hmm,” Grantaire said, paying more attention to than to what he was saying. Enjolras huffed in irritation, he’d had worse.

“You really don’t know anything about demons,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras groaned. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’m so-”

“Shut up,” Grantaire cut in. “I’m trying to say something.”

Enjolras fell silent. That seemed to surprise Grantaire, he cleared his throat.

“There’s nothing those demons you’re tracking can’t tell you that I can’t.” 

“You’ll help then?” Enjolras asked, hopefully.

“Yeah, I’m going to help but I need to know if what I’m suspecting is right,” he said. “The reason I wanted to eat you is because of your Spiritual energy, you’re planning on using the Demon King amulet on you, aren’t you?” 

“...There’s a place in France, in Pic du Midi, where the archaic societies of elves built altars, before we retreated the first time to the motherland. There’s another in Utha, I’m going to do it here, I-”

“Oh shit, you _are_ planning on using your own energy!” Grantaire said. “Are you even listening to yourself? That could kill you!”

“It could, but we don’t know for a fact that it will.”

“We?” Grantaire asked. “Oh yeah, what do Combeferre and Courfeyrac think about this?”

“Do you know what happened after the elven realm disappeared?” Enjolras asked. “Other magical passageways shut down too, among them some of the dragons’ caves. Courfeyrac can’t go home more than I can.

Combeferre _invented_ a new kind of magic when he found out how to turn the will of my people into a physical state. I’ve never seen something like it again, he made it possible to elect a new leader, to extract the name of the elected form a chalice without people lifting a finger. Combeferre has always thought the people deserve another chance.”

“I repeat,” Grantaire said. “It could kill you!” Then he seemed to have a revelation. “Wait, what about Jehan?”

“Jehan?” Enjolras asked, offended without knowing why but he felt a ugly sensation go through him at the way Grantaire had said the angel’s name: intimate.

“They would be devastated if Montparnasse died,” he said.

Oh.

“If you die, he dies too?”

“No,” Enjolras said more forcefully than intended. “He would, if I died of an injury and he didn’t treat it in his own body, but I’d be transforming my energy, not destroying it.” 

“This is fucked up,” Grantaire hissed, but he didn’t left, that was important. 

Enjolras left a silent moment pass, then he asked, “Would you care?”

“Care about what?”

“If I died,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

“You know what, I would,” Grantaire said, like this was only occurring to him now. “But honestly I don't know why. We’ll talk about how to get you that amulet later, go to smooth Combeferre’s feathers, I can hear him worrying form here.” 

This time, when Grantaire felt, it felt different.

When Enjolras made his way to the living room with the intention of joining everyone else, he found only Marius there.

“Enjolras, can I tell you something?” The elf asked.

As it turned out, Marius didn’t stay an elf for long. 


	6. GRANTAIRE PART II

Everything hurt, it hurt so much that Grantaire’s body took a lot of time to reconnect with his mind, trying to spare it the pain. Grantaire remembered the time he’d woken up with the hangover of hell after accidentally getting married and wished he could feel as good as that time again.

It was amazing all the damage he had done with a few insults, his fists, and a demon prince’s face. Carreau was the prince of Powers and Grantaire had found him coincidentally getting piss drunk at one of his favorite bars, he’d enjoyed punching him because of the envy the scene awoke in him, but he thought maybe Enjolras would also appreciate it because of the whole tempting men with hardness of heart.

When he finally opened his eyes he came to a barely to a less intense darkness than when he’d had them shut. Hell was always the darkest place in the Spiritual realm.

The prince and his friends were gone, they’d dragged him into their turf and left him in a dark corner, but they’d carried him by the magical guards that protected this piece of Hell, and Grantaire was exactly where he wanted to be.

Picking himself up, Grantaire limped away.

***

He’d just closed his fist around the Demon King amulet before he felt an invisible hook hauling him by the stomach and the smell of a strong spell filled his nostrils. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, and he appeared in his home’s living room.

The light blinded him and he cried out in pain, curling in on himself.

“R! Grantaire! Are you alright?” Joly yelled, too close for his voice not to hammer against his head.

“Do I _look_ alright?” He groaned.

“He’s snapping at us again, he’s fine,” Joly sighed.

Grantaire uncurled and testily he opened his eyes to the hovering faces of the idiots that lived with him. He focused on Enjolras and scowled at him with all his might.

“I _said_ six hours! Don’t you know how to count?”

Enjolras beamed at him.

“He _is_ alright,” he said, relief in his voice.

“Enjolras wanted me to pull you back after two hours, be grateful he gave you four,” Combeferre said, smiling at him.

“Aw, you do care,” Grantaire said, sarcasm heavy and let himself topple on his couch and closed his eyes again. He wasn’t going to move from there for the next week.

Enjolras snorted, a sound Grantaire found irritatingly endearing. He dug his hand into his pocket and shoved the amulet in Enjolras’ face - or where he imagined his face was -.

“Here, take it, I don’t want to see it ever again.”

Enjolras took it.

“I still think this was a stupid plan,” Enjolras said, and ah, there he was the annoying little prick everyone loved.

“Duly noted,” Grantaire said with a smile and promptly passed out.

***

Grantaire woke up this time under much more comfortable circumstances. He was in his bed and he he’d been bandaged up. Fighting other demons was never a good idea, they sapped his energy so much that he couldn’t even travel, hence why Combeferre’d had to bail him out of hell via a spell. But now that he’d rested, he had enough energy to take care of the few injuries that had survived Joly’s doctoring.

He took the stair down to the open first floor and was met with an eerie silence. He spotted Joly at the table having dinner, but he was the only one there.

“Where is everyone?”

“Grantaire! You’re awake!” Joly smiled at him and made to stand up but Grantaire stopped him with a hand gesture as he approached the table. “You slept the weekend away, today is Marius’ wedding, everyone is there. Except Bossuet because he got lost on his way there and accidentally left the state, and Musichetta because she went to retrieve him.”

“Unbelievably,” Grantaire said, fond, then he frowned. “You didn’t go?”

“Nah, someone had to stay in case you woke up, and I volunteered. Had to fight Enjolras for the privilege too, but I won!”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, he didn’t know what to do with that information, so he focused on the part of the sentence that didn’t made his heart clench.

“It wasn’t a physical fight was it?”

“No, ho ho, Courfeyrac told me that Enjolras is a street brawler in the body of a diplomat,” Joly laughed. “No, I won because I put a sedative in his drink and Bahorel carried him away.”

“...I wasn’t expecting that.” Grantaire said. “Where is the talisman?”

“I don’t know,” Joly shrugged. “Enjolras tuck it away.”

Grantaire nodded and went to turn on the tv, trying to extinguish the feeling of foreboding that the words caused him.

***

“Who left the tub like that?” Enjolras yelled.

Grantaire felt Bossuet shift next to him on the couch and suddenly he really didn't want to know what had happened to his tub. 

“It was me Enjolras, I’m sorry,” Feuilly said. 

Grantaire only raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh,” Enjolras said, the tips of his ears going red. Grantaire lowered his head to hide his smile. “It’s ok Feuilly, I shouldn't have snapped at you.”

“No problem,” Feuilly smirked. 

“I’m going to use the shower upstairs,” Enjolras said, and left awkwardly.

“He’s been like that since Marius became human,” Courfeyrac said. “Don’t mind him.”

“Hm,” Feuilly said. “Someone owes me one.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Bossuet said earnestly.

Grantaire left them to it.

He waited for Enjolras sitting in his own bed and when he heard the bathroom’s door open, he went out into the hall to meet him. Enjolras was wearing black sweats and a red hoodie, his hair curling over his eyes. He’d cut it recently, when he’d first came to live in Grantaire’s house, it’d been longer, the extra weight making turning it into soft waves; now it was curly and a little wild, giving Enjolras a semi-permanent disheveled look. Something similar had occurred with the way he held himself, his walk had relaxed into a lazy prowling instead, like he was comfortable.

“Hey,” Enjolras said when he noticed Grantaire leaning against the wall.

“You know,” he started, stepping away from the wall. “You did never say thank you,” he said, teasing. 

“I did,” Enjolras said so softly that Grantaire had to lean forward to hear him. “You were just unconscious.”

Grantaire would deny that his breath caught in his throat. 

“Anyway, you do have a point,” Enjolras said like he was deep in thought. “What do you want that I can give you?”

“Am I allowed to ask for things that I want and you can’t give?” Grantaire asked because he’d always been a masochist.

“Those are fewer than you think,” Enjolras said, a smile in the corners of his mouth.

“Let me paint you,” Grantaire blurted instead of the million things he could’ve said in answer to that.

Enjolras’ eyes widened in surprise. 

“You paint? What do you use?”

“Everything,” Grantaire said, smiling, he’d had many years to have a try to the many forms of artistic creation, it was the only way to cope after so many years without a drop of alcohol. “Picasso said he'd paint with his own wet tongue on the dusty floor of a jail cell if he had to.”

Enjolras went red. Then he noticed that Grantiare had begun walking toward his room.

“Wait, no?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes,” Grantaire said.

***

Enjolras was an impossible model, he was constantly moving, he got bored fast and he kept trying to initiate a conversation with Grantaire, distracting him. Grantaire gave up sooner that he’d have wanted, but the promise of Enjolras laying on his bed instead of a chair was too great to tempting to ignore.

This time he intended to remember every single detail, the way Enjolras gasped when Grantaire sucked his tongue into his mouth, the way his fingers gripped Grantaire’s thighs until they bruised and the way he looked when he finally couldn’t hold back anymore. 

Grantaire was less than a second away from falling asleep when he felt a kiss drop to his shoulder and he might’ve imagined Enjolras whispering, _sorry_ , before he left.

***

Enjolras should’ve known better. What on earth had it made him believe that Grantaire was going to let him go?

When Enjolras reached the front door, soft steps as if not to make a noise, Grantaire turned on the lights.

“Going somewhere?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras was wearing travel clothes, a long coat with interrupted lines where a pocket near the heart was carrying the Demon King amulet.

“I -” Enjolras started.

“Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there.”

“You can’t.”

“What?”

“Stop me,” Enjolras said, chin raised high. 

Grantaire sighed. Fair.

“Let me rephrase, I won’t let you do this alone.”

Enjolras stayed silent a beat.

“What happens if this does kill me?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire stopped breathing for a while, then drew breath in a hiss.

“Then I find a way to bring you back,” he said.

“Is that a promise?” Enjolras asked, resting his weight against the wall behind him.

“Sure,” Grantaire said. He raised his hand to show Enjolras the ring around his finger. “I swore an oath.” 

Enjolras laughed.

***

Grantaire didn’t know how he ended up here, but it had started when Enjolras had used the amulet under a starry night in Utah to bring back the elven _republic_ , and hadn’t died, hadn’t stayed an elf, had instead, become something else, something _more_.

Now Grantaire was out shopping for baby shower presents for both Cosette and Musichetta with Pontmercy and Montparnasse of all people.

“I like it,” Montparnasse said, holding up a deluxe baby lounger which Grantare was pretty sure was Gucci. “Who’s going to pay?” 

Grantaire hold his gaze. He knew Montparnasse was rich, even though he wasn’t sure what he did for a living. Jehan had told him that he worked as a model slash actor in a prestigious entertainment company. Grantaire didn’t buy it. He though killer for hire was still a more believable option.

“All right, let’s get this over with,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. Montparnasse smirked and rolled up his sleeves.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he said.

“Both of you are rich,” Marius said somewhere behind them.


End file.
